A Measure of Tyranny
by TheMidgetBee
Summary: A barbarian hero has arrived in a city under the thrall of an evil tyrant with the intention of freeing it once and for all. Unfortunately, he picked AnkhMorpork...
1. Chapter 1

Drumknott knocked on the office door gently, and entered the room, an apologetic smile on his face. "I'm sorry to bother you, my lord, but there's a rather large gentleman out here who says he's here to kill you."

Vetinari paused in writing and looked up. "Is it Commander Vimes?" he asked with a smile of his own.

"No sir."

"Oh." Vetinari looked slightly disappointed at the news, Drumknott noted. "Well, does he have an appointment?"

Drumknott shook his head. "No sir."

Vetinari bent his head to his paperwork once more. "Leave him outside for twenty minutes and contact the Palace Guard, just in case."

"Yes sir."

Drumknott left the room as quietly as he had entered it and as he continued his writing Vetinari could hear his secretary informing the stranger of his instructions. Suddenly there was a loud scream and a crash as Drumknott was thrown through the door, quickly followed by an overly-muscular young man who appeared to be missing several dozen items of clothing. Vetinari looked up.

"Yes?" he asked wearily.

The man drew a large sword and pointed it at him. "Are you…" He looked down at a piece of paper in his hand. "…Lord Vetinari, the tyrant of Ankh-Morpork?"

"I'm the Patrician, yes. Was there something you wanted?"

"I'm here to…" he looked at the sheet of paper again. "…liberate the oppressed peoples of the city from your foul tyranny." Vetinari gave him a blank look. "I'm here to kill you," he finished.

Vetinari put down his pen and leant back in his chair. "Really? And may I inquire as to why?"

"Well, you're a tyrant, I'm a hero, stands to reason really," he explained.

Vetinari groaned inwardly and gave the man a quick once-over; of course he was a hero, that certainly explained the lack of clothing and the weaponry, and the lack of intelligence as well…although compared to some of the guild leaders… Vetinari smiled briefly, then turned his attention back to the man. "What's your name?"

"Dolf the Barbarian."

"Well Mr Dolf…what makes you think I'm a tyrant?"

The hero looked slightly puzzled at the question. "Because someone told me you were?"

"And what if they were lying?"

"You think they were?"

Vetinari smiled. "This is Ankh-Morpork, Mr Dolf, so I think it's entirely possible they might have been lying, yes."

"Oh." Dolf started to sheath his sword then stopped, a suspicious look on his face. "Hang on, lots of people told me you were a tyrant. They couldn't _all_ have been lying."

"Again, this _is_ Ankh-Morpork," Vetinari said.

The suspicious look intensified. "No, I reckon _you're_ lying. If you were an evil tyrant you wouldn't tell me you were 'cause I'd kill you."

Vetinari sighed. "Maybe the people who told you I was an evil tyrant weren't lying, maybe they were simply mistaken."

"Huh?"

"Well their definition of a tyrant might be different to yours."

Dolf frowned. "Hmm, that is possible." Suddenly his face brightened and he grinned excitedly. "Oh wait, I've got this book…" he pulled a tatty book out of the waistband at the back of his loincloth. Vetinari could just about make out the words 'How to Bee a Barbarian Hero' on the front cover. "…now lets see, where's that tyrant-spotting section…? Oh, here it is." He cleared his throat nervously. "Do you own a cat?"

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"It's one of the ways to see if you're a tyrant or not. So come on, do you own a cat?"

"No, I have a dog."

The suspicious expression crossed over the hero's features once more. "How do I know you're telling the truth? You might be lying."

Vetinari tried to resist the temptation to roll his eyes in frustration. "Look under the desk and you will see my dog, Wuffles." This time the barbarian raised an eyebrow. "My aunt chose the name," Vetinari explained. "Look, if you're going to doubt every word I say then we'll be here for a while and I really do have rather a large amount of work to get through. Plus, I think my secretary may need some medical attention; he doesn't seem to have regained consciousness yet."

"You promise to tell the truth?"

"I promise; now what's the next question?"

Dolf took a pencil from Vetinari's desk and put a large X by the first question. "Er…do you have a beard?" He looked up, smiled, and then put a tick on the page.

"Vetinari blinked. "What does my having a beard got to do with being a tyrant?"

"Well, it means you've got something to hide, doesn't it?"

Vetinari groaned and put his head in his hands for a moment. "So let me get this straight," he said slowly. "I chose to grow a beard because I prefer the way I look with one and that immediately singles me out as evil?" The barbarian nodded happily. "What if I went upstairs and shaved it off? Would that automatically make me a good person?"

"Er…maybe…"

"I think we can safely ignore that question, can't we?" said Vetinari. "Next?"

"Do you ever imprison people for no reason?"

"No, generally I have quite a good reason for imprisoning people."

"I heard someone say that you have all the mimes arrested though," said Dolf. His brow furrowed. "What's a mime?"

"It's someone who stands in the middle of the street in a silly outfit and face-paint while pretending to be trapped inside an invisible box and expects to get paid for it," Vetinari explained.

"Oh, one of _them_," Dolf said. "Oh well I hate them, so that's okay." He made a note in the book. "Next question: When sentencing people to death, do you ever cackle madly?"

Vetinari stared at him. "Not usually, no."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay, well have you ever tied a virgin to a large rock for sacrifice to a god, demon or monster of your choice?"

Vetinari smiled. "No, but my last secretary--" he noticed Dolf's puzzled expression and his smile faded. "Long story, not important. Look, how many other questions do you have to ask me?"

Dolf ran his finger down the page, mouthing numbers to himself. "Er… there's thirty questions, so thirty minus four is..?" He looked at his fingers. "Um…"

"I'll tell you what," said Vetinari kindly. "I'll take a look at the rest of the questions and write down the answers for you, it'll be quicker. How would that be?"

Dolf sighed in relief. "Thanks, there were some really long words coming up that I wasn't sure how to say."

Vetinari took the book and pencil and began to read the questions, making ticks and crosses in the appropriate places. "Let's see…no…no…not really…no…okay, yes, I've done _that_…no…no…" He finished and quickly tallied his score at the bottom of the page before handing the book back to the hero.

Dolf looked down at the answers then back up at Vetinari. "You've really done number twelve?"

Vetinari waved a hand. "Yes, but I don't want to talk about it."

"And number twenty-six? I wouldn't have thought someone like you would be into something like that."

"You'd be surprised at what you can do if you really have no alternative," said Vetinari with a sigh. "So how did I do?"

"You got five out of thirty."

"And that means?"

Dolf turned the page over. "That means…you're not a tyrant." He looked up and gave Vetinari a sheepish grin. "Well, is my face red or what? It seems I've wasted your time, my Lord."

Vetinari smiled. "That's okay, Mr Dolf, it's an easy mistake to make I suppose. Now if you wouldn't mind leaving, I _do_ have quite a bit of work to do."

"Of course, your Lordship." Dolf walked over to the doorway of the office.

"Oh, Mr Dolf…?"

The hero turned around. "Yes, your Lordship?"

"Be out of the city in an hour or I'll have you imprisoned."

Dolf grinned and nodded. "Of course, your Lordship. It was nice to meet you sir."

As the barbarian hero left the office and began to make his way out of the palace, Vetinari picked up his pen once more and began to write.

There was a groan from the floor.

"Ah, Drumknott," said Vetinari, not looking up from his work. "You've regained consciousness at last; no lasting damage, I hope?"

Drumknott sat up, holding his head gingerly in case it fell off. "I don't think so, sir. Er...what happened?"

"You were thrown through the door by a young man known as Dolf the Barbarian."

"Oh." Drumknott struggled to his feet using the desk as leverage.

"Are you sure you're okay, Drumknott? You appear to be bleeding onto my desk."

Drumknott quickly wiped at the spots of blood with his sleeve. "I apologise, my lord, but I'm sure I'll be fine. Would you like a cup of tea?"

Vetinari smiled. "Yes, thank you, Drumknott, that would be nice. When you order the tea, be sure to order yourself a small brandy to calm your nerves, you've had quite a shock."

"Yes sir, thank you sir." Drumknott walked to the doorway, still swaying slightly.

"Oh, and Drumknott? Send someone up to replace the door as quickly as possible, will you? Having it hanging of the hinges like that is making the office look quite untidy."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Someone asked what questions 12 and 26 were on Dolf's questionnaire so here's the questionnaire in full. Now please note, apart from the first five questions these aren't in order, so the order of these questions are open to interpretation. Plus, as some of the answers that can be given result in actually _losing_ Tyrant-points, Lord Vetinari could have still done more than five but have gained a negative score due to this loophole. I'm not saying he _has_, just that he might have.

* * *

Do you have problems spotting a tyrant?

Have you suffered the embarrassment of decapitating someone only to be told he was just temping for the day?

The modern tyrant is just as likely to be running your local post office as he/she is to be running your local city-state or country, so the authors of 'How to Bee a Barbarian Hero' have come up with this handy pocket-sized guide to finding a tyrant, regardless of status or position.

Simply ask your potential tyrant these searching questions:

Do you own a cat?

Do you have a beard?

Do you ever imprison people for no reason?

When sentencing people to death, do you ever cackle madly?

Have you ever tied a virgin to a large rock for sacrifice to a god/demon/monster of your choice?

Do you dress only in black or black and red robes?

Have you ever locked someone up for saying your robes look like a dress? (Plus two points if it actually is a dress)

Have you ever seduced a member of the opposite sex for power or influence?

Have you ever seduced a member of the same sex for power or influence?

Do you have a secret-hideout?

If so, is it in or one of the following: A hollowed-out volcano/secret bunker/an above-ground military base with a large sign saying that it doesn't exist/your parent's spare-room/a little fort you've made out of some pillows?

Do you ever refer to your employees as 'henchmen'? Even if only in private?

When you've captured your arch-nemesis at last, have you then handed them over to be killed in an overly-elaborate but easily escapable scenario well away from your sight?

While your arch-nemesis is escaping and generally making a nuisance of himself around your secret hide-out, instead of trying to recapture him do you instead occupy yourself by attempting to seduce his sidekick/latest bit-on-the-side/mum?

Did you actually seduce them? (Minus one point for every successful seduction; tyrants never succeed at this)

Do you consider blinking optional?

Has one of your employees ever tried to overthrow you?

Have you ever started laughing at a threat you just made/plan you've just come up with and all of the other people in the room started laughing with you?

Did the laughter last over five minutes? (add one additional point for each extra five minute increment)

Did you keep laughing on purpose just to see if someone would start choking?

Have you ever strangled someone just by looking at their neck and wishing really hard?

Do you refer to yourself in the third person? All the time? Even if people complain?

Did you kill the former incumbent of your current position?

Do you have overly-large pictures of yourself looking very important and clever but slightly constipated hanging around your capital city and palace?

Have you had your personal assistant/secretary/cleaner trained in deadly martial arts and/or seduction techniques? Possibly involving some kind of fashion accessory?

Do you write poetry and/or sing? And make people listen to it? Even if they fake their own death to try to escape it?

Have you ever attempted to breed or summon some kind of monster/demon/ancient god to help you take over the world/neighbourhood/local PTA?

Have you ever gone into the streets incognito so you can meet the 'ordinary people' while making sure you're surrounded by some very large bodyguards who'll beat the crap out of anyone who insults you/supports your rival/makes fun of your dre--robes?

A rival city/country/soccer team has made some noise about a possible invasion of your territory. How long would you wait before unleashing your secret weapon and destroying them? (Minus one point for each minute; minus ten points if it's over an hour) (Plus one point for each minute you spend boasting about your secret weapon; plus ten points if you claim credit for its design)

A young man has expressed an interest in your sister/daughter. Do you have them flayed alive/beheaded/fired/spread a rumour that they spend their nights performing the Blue Cat club under the stage name Miss Roxie Fantastique?

Scores:

0-7 Not a tyrant. Not the nicest person in the world, grant you, and definitely one to watch, but not tyrannical. Go and see the local seamstress.

7-15 Hmm, edging into tyrant territory. Have they already threatened/tried to seduce you? If so, kill 'em…after they've seduced you, of course.

16-24 Tyrant. Decapitate without delay, put their head on a stick, parade around so the populous can worship you and wait for the local virgins to service you.

25-29Definitely a tyrant. Throw them off a balcony, declare yourself king and tell the ladies of the court to form an orderly queue.

30 Put the sword down, smile nicely, don't make eye contact (they see it as a sign of aggression) and back away _slowly_. Go and see the innkeeper's daughter four towns away.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Argh, this story won't leave me alone! After I posted Dolf's questionnaire yesterday, I kept thinking, what if Lord Vetinari really did do some of those things it said? So here it is…

* * *

"I'm not quite sure why we're doing this, sir."

Lord Vetinari sighed and gave his secretary an exasperated look. "We are here, Drumknott, because in order for me to continue ruling Ankh-Morpork as a benevolent dictator I must find some way of exorcising any tyrannical inclinations I may develop."

"Yes, my lord, I understand that; what I don't understand is why that involves building a fort out of all the pillows I could find in the Palace."

"It's not a fort, Drumknott; it's my Secret Municipal Fortress of Doom. Now put on your little hat."

Drumknott put on the hat reluctantly. He was starting to get worried about this.

Vetinari looked at him critically and slightly adjusted the way the hat was sitting on Drumknott's head. "There, that's better. I always thought gold braid would suit you; you have exactly the right colouring, you know."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Now, let's see if I can get this right…" Vetinari cleared his throat. "…ha ha ha."

Drumknott frowned. "I'm not sure if you've got the tone quite right, sir."

"No, you may be right there." He took a deep breath. "Hahaha!" He gave Drumknott an inquiring look. "Any better?"

"Not really, sir. Perhaps you simply need the right inspiration."

"Possibly. Okay, inspire me then, my arch-lieutenant of the filing cabinet."

"Your arch—what?" Drumknott asked incredulously.

"My arch-lieutenant of the filing cabinet," Vetinari repeated. "I have to give all my henchmen titles, Drumknott. I just thought you might like one that sounds important."

Drumknott gave him an embarrassed grin. "Why thank you, sir, I don't know what to say--"

Yes, yes," Vetinari waved a hand impatiently. "Now hurry up and inspire me; it's very important that I get this right."

"Yes, sir. Okay, now close your eyes…"

Vetinari closed his eyes.

"…And picture yourself in your office…"

"My command centre," Vetinari murmured.

"Yes, okay, your command centre…Now in walks Commander Vimes of the Watch, without knocking first…"

"Commander Vimes, Grand-Enforcer of my Battalions of Law."

"Yeah, whatever…he's walked in and he's annoyed some of the Guild Leaders…" continued Drumknott.

"Uh huh." Vetinari's mouth twitched.

"…And he's upset the ambassador of Llamedos again…"

"Hmm." The Patrician's body was shaking slightly.

"…And now he's _demanding_ a pay rise for his men…"

"Guards! Drag him to Sator Square and behead him immediately!" Vetinari screamed suddenly. He threw back his head. "_Bwahahahaha_!!"

Drumknott clapped. "Well done, sir!"

Vetinari took a deep breath and smiled. "There, I knew I would manage it eventually. Now, how are you doing with the special training I asked you to undertake?"

Drumknott blushed. "Ah, well, you see, sir…that isn't going so well."

"And why not?"

"Well, Mrs Palm is teaching me the…techniques you've requested, but the thing I'm supposed to do with my sock, sir…" Drumknott grimaced. "It's--it's _obscene_. Plus Mrs Palm keeps laughing at me when I try to do it."

"Nothing worth knowing is easy to learn, Drumknott. Besides, she may not be laughing, maybe she's coughing, very quietly."

"No, she's definitely laughing, sir. She laughed so hard yesterday that she fell off her chair. Then she brought in a group of trainees to watch me and they laughed too, sir." Drumknott's face flushed as the memory of thirty giggling faces came back to haunt him. "To tell you the truth, sir, I'm not even sure why you would want me to know how to do that sort of thing; and it's not as if I usually wear glasses anyway."

"Because, Drumknott, a man in your position needs some additional skills in order to fulfil your role fully. Besides, I did promise you on-the-job training when you took up the position, didn't I?"

"Yes, but I didn't realise what kind of job you were referring to at the time, sir."

Vetinari smiled. "I need you to learn those skills because I may need you to use them one day against anyone who may threaten me or my command centre."

"Even against Mr Slant?"

"Even against…" Vetinari gave Drumknott a grave look. "…Corporal Nobbs."

Drumknott looked panicked. "Surely not, sir! I—oh gods, I'm going to be sick!" He suddenly got up and rushed out of the room, his hand clenched tightly over his mouth.

Vetinari sighed. "Young people today…" he muttered, getting to his feet and brushing off his robes. He quickly made his way up to his office where William de Worde was sat waiting for him.

"Ah, Lord Vetinari," William said, nodding his head slightly. "I wondered if you'd forgotten your interview with the Times was today."

Vetinari sat down in his chair and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't forget, Mr de Worde, I was simply otherwise engaged. Of course, I apologise if my lateness has caused you some inconvenience."

William smiled nervously at the slight edge in the Patrician's voice. "No problem, my lord," he looked down at his notebook. "Now about this interview…Ah yes, what are your views on the recent Watch involvement regarding the recent events in Koom Valley?"

"I understand that Commander Vimes and his men were in pursuit of several suspects at the time, Mr de Worde. While their involvement did bring to light some factors which I hope will only contribute to the current spirit of cooperation between the Low King and the Troll clans, the Watch's involvement in the subsequent negotiations has been minimal at best. Plus I feel it is not prudent to comment further on such events until they are properly resolved."

"Uh huh," William quickly scribbled down the last of Lord Vetinari's words then looked up at him, a predatory look in his eye. "Then perhaps I could ask you about something else instead, my lord: Reacher Gilt."

Vetinari gave William a blank look. "What about Mr Gilt?"

"Are you aware of the current rumours circulating that he is back in the city? And that you've given him a job as the Palace Gardener?"

"I can assure you that those rumours are not only unsubstantiated but they are inaccurate as well."

"Really? Well what about the other rumours that you had him killed?" William smiled. "Or are those inaccurate too?"

Lord Vetinari simply stared at the Times reporter.

William gave him a puzzled look. "Are you going to answer the question, my lo—ack!" Suddenly he clutched at his throat and gasped. "Ack—I—can't—breathe!"

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "Really, Mr de Worde?" he said calmly. "Perhaps you had better go and get yourself a glass of water."

"Ye—ack…" William attempted to choke out a reply before rushing out the room.

Lord Vetinari smiled. "Oh dear, he's left his notebook…" The Patrician reached across the desk, opened it to a new page and picked up a pen. 'There was a young woman from Sto Lat/ who really was massively fat/ She sat on her chair/ and fell through it there/ and squashed her poor little cat', he wrote in a careful, copperplate hand.

He placed the notebook back on the desk and took a small key from his pocket. Touching an inconspicuous part of the wall, he stepped through the panel that slid open and began to make his way to Leonard's rooms.

"Duck, my lord!"

Vetinari ducked for cover as something crashed into the wall above his head. Leonard gave the Patrician a sheepish grin as he picked bits of splintered wood off his head. "Sorry about that, my lord; I still can't get the steering system to work properly."

"So I see."

"Are you here about your portrait?"

"Yes," Vetinari said. "I was wondering how it was progressing."

"The preliminary sketches are finished," said Leonard. "Would you like to see?"

"If you don't mind." Leonard led him over to a large canvas and easel set up in the corner. Vetinari looked at his work thoughtfully. "It's certainly an interesting composition."

"You don't like it?"

"I never said that," said Vetinari quickly. "I was just wondering though; why am I naked in it? I distinctly remember I was fully-clothed at the time."

"Yes, but I was going for the classical approach, my lord."

"But you've never seen me naked, Leonard, how do you know what I look like without my clothes on?"

"Oh, I just guessed, my lord," replied Leonard cheerfully. He suddenly looked at the canvas inquisitively. "Why, did I get something wrong?"

"No, you got everything right, even that little scar on my stomach. That's why I asked."

"Oh, okay." Leonard smiled. "Of course you'll actually have to be naked when I paint it, my lord. In order to get the shadowing correct."

"The shadowing from the strip of cloth you've drawn around my naked form, I assume?" asked Lord Vetinari.

"Yes, well, accuracy in these matters is important, my lord," said Leonard, absent-mindedly as he picked up a pencil and began to draw in the background of the portrait. "Were there any other queries you had?"

Vetinari hesitated. "Well, maybe just one; why am I grinning?"

"You don't think you should be?"

"It's just that I'm not usually known for it. Staring, yes; grinning, no."

"True, but I do feel the teeth add a certain _something_," said Leonard.

Vetinari sighed. "I know you've worked very hard on this, Leonard, but I did ask you for a portrait of me looking very powerful, intelligent and deeply evil. Instead I've got a picture of me standing naked in front of my office window, holding a piece of cloth between my legs while looking out at the viewer and grinning like a madman." He paused for a moment then shrugged. "Same effect, I suppose."

"So you'd like me to continue, my lord?"

"Yes please, Leonard." Lord Vetinari pulled off his outer robe and held it out with one arm as he started to undo the buttons at his collar. "Now, where would you like me to put my clothes?"


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I really don't know how this happened. One minute this is just the story of a barbarian hero trying to kill Lord Vetinari and him dealing with it in his very special way, and the next it's a multi-chaptered story about Vetinari going all tyrannical and stuff. It's all your fault, you all keep giving me ideas in your reviews!

Anyway, this chapter is because of whoever it was (sorry, I can't remember the name) wondering what Vimes would say about all of it in their review. The concluding part will be posted tomorrow or something.

* * *

"Good morning, Commander."

Vimes nodded at the Patrician's secretary as he walked into the waiting room. "If you say so. Is he in?"

"Of course," said Drumknott. "His lordship will be ready to see you in a moment. Would you like to take a seat while you wait?"

Vimes grunted a response and threw himself down on the one of the rickety chairs. Drumknott smiled slightly and lowered his head once more to the paperwork on his desk as the clock in the corner continued in its arrhythmic ticking. Finally a soft whistle came form the speaking tube on his desk. He picked it up.

"Yes, sir?"

"Send Commander Vimes in please, Drumknott."

"Of course, my lord," Drumknott looked up at the Commander and gave him a friendly smile. "His lordship will see you now, Commander."

As the Commander stomped his way into the Oval Office, Drumknott felt himself relax slightly. He didn't know why but whenever he saw Commander Vimes it always put him slightly on edge; it was probably because the man always looked like he was five seconds away from screaming at you.

He picked up his pen as Lord Downey ran into the room.

"I demand to see Vetinari right now!" the Assassin shouted. "The sheer nerve of the man…Right now, you hear me!"

"His lordship is busy right now, Lord Downey," Drumknott replied calmly. "He's currently in a meeting with Commander Vimes."

"I don't care," snapped Downey striding forward towards the door.

Drumknott sighed; the moment he'd been dreading for days had finally arrived. He pulled open a desk drawer and took out a pair of glasses. "Oh, Lord Downey…"

* * *

Vimes' eyes widen in horror as he took in the sight of the painting hanging on the wall directly behind the Patrician's head. _Oh dear gods…_

"So how are things, Vimes?"

"Er…" Vimes blinked and finally managed to tear his eyes away from the portrait. "..They're fine. Yes. Fine."

"Ah."

The Watch Commander visibly shook himself and stared at Vetinari's desk. "Couple of unlicensed thefts, sir, nothing too big though. Oh, and we've got a few more leads on the Terrance murder."

"Capital," said Vetinari. "No doubt your men will have it solved in no time."

"We certainly hope so, sir."

Suddenly there was a crash and a scream from the direction of waiting room. Vimes' head whipped round. "What was that?"

Vetinari smiled. "It's probably just Drumknott, Vimes. I doubt it's anything to worry about; he's probably just testing out some training I had him undertake recently."

"What kind of training?"

Vetinari waved a hand languidly. "Just some…special skills I felt he should learn."

Vimes' eyes flicked up to the portrait again. "Oh."

"Now onto international matters; I've recently had information that the Klatchians are thinking of declaring war against us again, Vimes."

"Sir?"

"Apparently Prince Khufuruh has been locked in his Palace and General Ashal has taken the idea upon himself that successfully invading Ankh-Morpork would allow him to declare himself Seriph. They're still quite angry about how the last war ended."

"So are a lot of the city council, sir."

"Yes, I know," Vetinari sighed. "Of course, the avoidance of vast quantities of bloodshed are something of an affront to those who really believe in the phrase 'death or glory'. However, despite their protestations, which no doubt I'll soon be listening to at great length, I still want to avoid out-and-out war with a country that could wipe us out in hours. We really wouldn't stand a chance in an invasion, Vimes; unless, of course, I was to deploy my Doomsday Device."

Vimes frowned, this was news to him. "Doomsday Device, sir?"

"Oh I know the name isn't very catchy, Vimes but I can assure you it is an improvement on what it used to be called: The-Moving-Mountains-and-Large-Bears-Out –Of-The-Way-And-Making-A-Pretty-Mushroom-Shaped-Cloud Device."

"It doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, sir."

"No it doesn't. Anyway, I'd like you and your men to keep an eye on any unrest relating to this threat and to notify me immediately if any should occur. I already have the Device primed and ready to use, just in case."

"But why, sir? If they haven't actually done anything yet--"

Vetinari frowned. "Oh but they have, Vimes. General Ashal has already insulted us with that interview in the Times last week."

Vimes tried to cast his mind back. Was there an interview? He read the Times every day but maybe he'd missed that story; of course he tended to get distracted by yelling at de Worde's latest editorial criticising the Watch. "What did he say, sir?"

"He said, Vimes, that my robes look like a dress."

"Oh," Vimes tried desperately not to grin. "Well they do look a _bit_ like a dress, sir."

Vetinari's eyes narrowed. "No, they do not," the Patrician said in a steely voice. "Besides I would never wear a dress made out of cotton, Vimes. I much prefer a fine silk or taffeta."

Vimes stared at him with his mouth open.

Vetinari smiled. "That was a joke, Vimes."

"If you say so, sir."

"Now," Vetinari shifted slightly in his chair. "I want you to take some men from your Battalions of Law and go and arrest the tea-lady from Maisie's Tea Rooms down on Attic Bee Street, Vimes."

"Battalions of _what_?"

"Battalions of _law_, Vimes," said the Patrician with an exasperated sigh. "Do pay attention."

Vimes gave him a wary look. "Why do you want her arrested?"

Vetinari shrugged. "Why not?"

"But there has to be a charge, sir!"

"Make one up then; I know you Warriors of Justice can be rather good at that sort of thing."

"Warriors of--" Vimes shook his head and sighed. "So what are we supposed to do with this tea-lady when we've arrested her?"

"Take her to my Secret Municipal Fortress of Doom and I shall have my Arch-Lieutenant of the Filing Cabinet interrogate her." Lord Vetinari noticed the blank look on Vimes' face and sighed himself. "Take her to the fort of pillows in the Great Hall and give her to Drumknott," he explained slowly.

"But she hasn't done anything wrong, sir." Vimes paused. "At least, not anything that I know of."

"This woman, this--" Vetinari glanced down at some papers on his desk. "—Ethel Woodridge, 73, of 24 Baker Street; she's my arch-nemesis, Vimes. She must be stopped without delay."

"A 73 year old woman is your arch-nemesis…?" Vimes said slowly, trying to let the words sink in. "How exactly?"

"I'm not sure yet," said Vetinari. "But once she's been interrogated thoroughly by my Arch-Lieutenant I shall find out."

"Right…"

"I mean it, Vimes. I believe this Mrs Woodridge to be extremely dangerous. Oh, and be sure to arrest Mr Woodridge as well, I may have to try and seduce him to get him to inform on his wife."

* * *

"He's lost it. He's totally lost it."

"Oh, I don't know about that, sir," said Captain Carrot good-naturedly. "Maybe Lord Vetinari has some plan we're not aware of yet."

Vimes grimaced. "Yes, I've heard about that; he kept going on about some kind of Doomsday Device he's planning to use against the Klatchians for calling him a cross-dresser."

"I'm sure it won't come to that, sir."

"Do you know Mrs Woodridge, Carrot?"

"Oh yes, sir. Quite a nice old lady; I'm surprised she would let herself get mixed up in some kind of criminal activity."

"Hmm." Vimes frowned. "Of course if Vetinari has gone completely insane I'll have to arrest him again." He sighed. "Oh gods, think of the paperwork that'll cause."

Carrot stopped. "Here we are, sir; Maisie's Tearooms."

Vimes looked around the small café. He didn't often use the word cosy but it certainly applied here; everything from the doilies on each table to the sweet-looking old woman shuffling up to them in a pair of carpet slippers reminded him of afternoons spent with his granny when he was a little boy.

The old woman smiled up at them both. "Good afternoon, sirs. What can I get you? A nice cup of tea and a biscuit? Or perhaps a nice slice of fruit cake"

Carrot gave her a pleasant smile. "Hello, Mrs Woodridge. We're here on business I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Carrot looked around; Vimes noted that even he looked embarrassed doing this. "Mrs Ethel Woodridge, I'm arresting you on suspicion of...of…" He shot Vimes a panicked look.

"Suspicion of conspiracy to overthrow the Patrician," said Vimes.

The noise level in the room dropped. An elderly man sitting at a nearby table struggled to his feet, finally managing it on the third attempt. "Here, what're you doing to Ethel?"

"Watch business, sir. Nothing to worry about," said Vimes.

"They're trying to arrest me, Roger," said Mrs Woodridge. "They said I'm trying to get rid of Lord Vetinari."

"Ridiculous!" The old man picked up his stick and began to hobble over to the Watchmen. "You leave Ethel alone."

Vimes held up a hand. "Look, sir, this is official Watch business here; so just take a seat and we'll be done in a minute, ok."

"Come on, Mrs Woodridge, this won't take long, please," pleaded Carrot. "We just need to take you to the Palace to have a chat with the Patrician and get this all straightened out."

"I'm not going anywhere, young man!"

"You tell 'em, Ethel," said Roger approvingly. He turned to Vimes. "You leave her alone or I'll be forced to give you a damn good thrashing, sonny!"

He lifted up the stick to hit the Watch Commander with it but knocked himself off balance in the process. Unthinkingly Vimes shot out a hand and grabbed the old man by the collar as he began to topple over.

"Police brutality! Police brutality!" shouted Roger, slapping at Vimes with his free hand.

"Oh, to hell with this," growled Vimes. "Carrot, come on!" He grabbed Mrs Woodridge and the two watchmen lifted her up and pulled her out of the cafe.

* * *

"Angua and Sally have already taken Mr Woodridge into custody, sir," said Carrot. "Angua said they didn't have too many problems with him. Well, apart from his insistence that he's a naturist. Wrinkles everywhere, apparently."

"Poor them," murmured Vimes. "What do you think Vetinari wants with this woman anyway? I hardly think she's going to turn out to be a criminal mastermind, do you?"

"I wouldn't like to say, sir."

Drumknott looked up from his desk bleary-eyed. "Hello, Commander, Captain. Is this the woman his lordship was talking about?"

"Yes she is," said Carrot. "Would you like to sit down, Mrs Woodridge?"

"Sod off, copper."

"I think that's a yes, Carrot," said Vimes with a slight smile. He turned back to the secretary. "Look, what exactly does Vetinari want to do with this woman anyway? She—dear gods man, are you okay? You look terrible."

Drumknott tried to smile but gave up halfway. "I'm fine, Commander. It's just that his Lordship has had rather a lot of irate visitors today and I've had to do…some things."

"What kind of things?"

"Believe me, you don't want to know."

Vimes gave Drumknott a wary look. "Ye-e-es, I believe you there. Where is Vetinari anyway?"

"Down in his Secret Municipal Fortress of Doom with the rest of the City Council, Commander; he's trying to convince them to change the Guild names."

"Change them to what?"

Drumknott sighed. "Let's just put it this way this way; he wants to call the Guild of Seamstresses his Harems of the Night."

"Why? I thought he didn't…I mean, he doesn't have…y'know?" asked Vimes with a frown.

"Oh, he doesn't," said Drumknott. "At least as far as I know. But he feels it'll make him appear more evil and tyrannical…or something." He shrugged. "His lordship explained it all but I wasn't really listening; I'm too tired out."

"Tired out from all the…things you've had to do…" said Vimes slowly.

Drumknott glared. "Yes."

"Oh." Vimes decided to move onto a different subject. "Drumknott, has his Lordship's behaviour seemed a little off to you lately?"

"In what way?"

"Well, the giant fort of pillows, the huge naked portrait of himself in his office, changing the names of the Guilds…it's all a bit unusual, isn't it?"

"Is it?" said Drumknott innocently. "I hadn't noticed."

"Oh, come on," said Vimes. "Vetinari called the Watch the _Battalions_ of _Law_."

Carrot looked up. "Ooh, do you think we'll get new uniforms?"

"Shut up, Carrot. Look, Drumknott, I don't care if he's lost it or whatever, there's no way I'm going to let Vetinari start calling my watchmen Warriors of Justice. People will laugh at us!" Behind him Carrot mouthed his new job title to himself and smiled.

"You think you have it bad?!" Drumknott shrieked suddenly. "Do you know what I've had to do today? Five times?! Mr Boggis kept coming back just so I'd have to do it again!"

Vimes shot the secretary a worried look. "Just calm down--"

"Calm down? How can I calm down? Have you seen the new uniform I've been given?!" Drumknott wrenched open a desk drawer and pulled out a shiny gold bikini. "I've got to wear this, starting tomorrow! And if that wasn't enough, Vetinari wants to chain me to his wrist when we go out in public! _Public_!!" he screeched. And at that the Patrician's secretary burst into tears and started to bang his head in the table.

* * *

Lord Vetinari looked at the faces of the Guild leaders and smiled. "And so with the help of you, my Armies of Darkness, and the power of my Doomsday Device, I have no doubt that we shall be able to defeat the Klatchian threat."

"Yes, about that--" started Lord Downey.

"Yes, Lord Downey, General of my Forces of the Blade?"

"It's just that…well, this is rather--" Downey stopped. "General?"

"A fitting title, don't you think?"

"Yes…" Downey started to grin. "I like that. General. General Downey. Hmm…"

"Capital," Vetinari said. "Any other objections?" One by one the other Guild leaders shook their heads. "Good."

"I have one, my lord."

Vetinari's face broke into a friendly smile. "Mr Slant. Of course. And what would that be, exactly?"

"It's about your secretary, my lord."

"Really?" The door opened and Vimes walked in. "Ah, Commander, no problems I hope?"

Vimes shook his head.

"Excellent. Now, Mr Slant, what is it about my secretary you find so objectionable?"

"Usually there's nothing, my lord. But earlier today I sent one of my clerks to deliver some Guild documents to your office and when he tried to enter your secretary behaved most inappropriately."

"What did he do?"

"I'm not sure, my clerk was extremely traumatized, Lord Vetinari. The only thing he would say were the words 'sexy dance'. Do they ring a bell?" asked Mr Slant.

Mr Boggis grinned. "He didn't like it? I thought it was funny, especially when the secretary started crying on the third go; better than a trip down the music hall."

Vimes shot him a look. "I've always wondered about you…"

Lord Vetinari held up his hand to quiet them. "Gentlemen, Ladies, please. It is true that I have recently had my secretary, Mr Drumknott, undergo some specialized training under Mrs Palm--"

"I bet," whispered Downey. Mr Boggis giggled.

"—and as a result he is now fully prepared to deal with any threats to the privacy of myself or my command centre in a specific way."

"Very specific," said Mr Boggis with a smile. "That bit with the sock…"

Mrs Palm grinned. "He finally managed to get that right, did he? The poor lad had such trouble with the manoeuvre during training."

"Oh no, he still got it wrong," said Boggis. "I just liked the way he'd start swearing when it hit him in the face."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Okay, here's the second-to-last chapter. Never have I tried to write so much in such a short space of time and I know that, yes, it is a bit jumpy with regards to the plot but I am desperately trying to connect two separate stories that initially only had that questionnaire in common. Anyway, be prepared for some slight ickyness. Okay, quite a bit of ickyness. You have been warned…

* * *

"Ah, Mrs Woodridge, we meet at last."

"Do I know you, young man?" Mrs Woodridge peered at the Patrician short-sightedly. "Are you Susie Tanner's son? The one with the squint?"

"No, Mrs Woodridge."

"Are you sure? I could have sworn you were her Kevin."

"I am quite sure, Mrs Woodridge."

"Oh," the old woman frowned slightly. "Well who are you then?"

"I am Lord Vetinari, Mrs Woodridge." Vetinari sighed as the old woman's face went blank. "The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork? Do you remember? My secretary spent the past ten minutes explaining all of this to you."

"The man in woman's underwear?

"It's not underwear, Mrs Woodridge; it's a gold bikini." Vetinari steepled his fingers in front of his face and stared at her fixedly. "Why are you plotting against me?"

"I wouldn't do something like that, dear," said Mrs Woodridge pleasantly. "I barely know you."

"Nonetheless, I know you _are_ plotting against me."

"Oh, don't be silly, dear."

Lord Vetinari intensified his stare but the old woman merely smiled at him myopically. He frowned. "Hmmm."

"Don't mumble, dear."

"I wasn't mumbling, Mrs Woodridge, I was thinking."

"What were you thinking about? A problem shared is a problem halved, my old granny always used to say."

"I was merely wondering the best way to turn you into a gibbering wreck who would gladly give up her deepest secrets in return for the briefest of reprieves. Possibly involving some kind of thumbscrew; or maybe some pliers. I haven't decided which yet."

"Well I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble, dear."

"Then tell me what you're planning," said Vetinari evenly.

Mrs Woodridge gave him a confused look. "Okay, dear. I was planning to go to the markets with my friend Elsie and pick up a cabbage for dinner and then I was going to go and see my sister in Kicklebury Street, you know her, she's the one whose son married the girl up in Monkey street; lovely girl, shame about the missing arm, but he could never afford to be too picky and--"

"I meant tell me about your plans to overthrow me, Mrs Woodridge!"

"Oh. Well I'm not sure I have any, dear."

"You're lying."

She gave him an indignant look. "No, I'm not! Bloody cheek! You're not too old to put across my knee, you know."

Lord Vetinari leaned back in his chair and stared at her. "Mrs Woodridge, it may interest you to know that I currently have your husband in my custody. If you don't want anything untoward to happen to him then I suggest you start to tell me what I want to hear."

"And what would that be, dear?"

* * *

"No luck, sir?"

Vetinari sighed. "Unfortunately not, Drumknott. That woman is plotting against me though, I know it." He sighed again. "Did you put her in the pool of man-eating sharks like I asked?"

Drumknott squirmed slightly. "Yes, sir. But you only ordered the pool to be built this morning, so the builders haven't even been round to discuss the plans yet."

"So what did you do?"

"I locked her in the room the pool will be going in and told Clerk Brian to keep throwing glasses of water at her instead, sir. He has to keep running down to the kitchens to refill the glass but he promises he'll break her eventually."

"Capital," Vetinari smiled. "Where's Mr Woodridge?"

"Still in the dungeons, sir."

"Good. Prepare my Seduction Chamber then bring him up to my Secret Municipal Fortress of Doom in twenty minutes."

"Seduction Chamber?"

"My bedroom, Drumknott. Oh, and summon my Grand-Enforcer, I'll need Vimes to guard the doorway, to make sure Mr Woodridge and myself aren't disturbed."

"Yes sir." Drumknott coughed nervously. "Sir, what exactly are you planning to do with Mr Woodridge?"

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "What do you think I'm going to do with him? I'm going to _seduce_ him."

"Right…why?"

"Because it'll make him inform on his wife, that's why. Honestly, I would've thought you'd have known that."

Drumknott squirmed again. "It's just that…well…you're not…and he's rather…and it's sort of…y'know."

Vetinari sighed. "We all have to make sacrifices at some point, Drumknott." He frowned. "Why do you keep wriggling around like that?"

Drumknott blushed. "Sorry sir, it's my new uniform; it's cutting in a bit. And I'm not used to wearing a thong, sir. I don't suppose I could put on my regular clothes instead?"

"You suppose correctly, Drumknott."

* * *

"So let me get this right," Vimes said slowly. "You want me to stand outside your pillow fortress--"

"My Secret Municipal Fortress of Doom, yes."

"—and guard it, while you attempt to seduce an eighty-four year old man." Vimes frowned. "When you say 'seduce', what exactly are we talking about here, sir?"

"What do you suppose I mean, Vimes?" asked Lord Vetinari.

"Well, it's not sex, is it, sir?"

Vetinari gave an exasperated sigh. "Yes, I'm talking about sex, Vimes; why does everyone have such a problem with the concept of _me_ having sex? I'm not a eunuch, you know."

"Oh, I know, sir. I've seen the portrait in your office."

Vetinari smiled slightly. "It's not like I'm going to enjoy this, Vimes. It's just something that is necessary for me to safeguard the city. Taking one for the team, I believe is the phrase."

Vimes' mind shut down completely at that thought. "Y-yes, sir."

Vetinari sighed. "It was just an expression, Vimes." He looked down at his watch. "Right, it's nearly time. Now remember; no one but Mr Woodridge or Drumknott are to come through this door. Even if you hear some strange noises emanating from this room, you are not to come in, no matter what."

"Don't worry, sir. There is no _way_ I'm going in there."

"Capital." At that Vetinari turned and entered his Fortress; Drumknott had certainly done a good job here, he thought. The space was filled with candles of all sizes, casting a romantic glow over everything. He sat down at the small dining table set in the middle of the room and poured two glasses of wine. The door opened and Vimes' head appeared.

"Mr Woodridge is here, sir," he said, taking in the scene around Vetinari. "Oh dear gods, you're really going to do it…"

"Send him in please, Vimes."

"Yes sir."

Vimes disappeared from view, and the most wrinkled old man Vetinari had ever seen shuffled through the doorway, supported by two walking sticks and his secretary.

Drumknott gave the Patrician an apologetic look. "Sorry, sir, Mr Woodridge keeps falling over if I don't hold onto him. Now come on, Mr Woodridge, nearly there. Nearly there. Al-mo-st th-ere. Here we are, have a seat. There you go."

"Thank you, young man," said the old man in a cracked voice. "I hope you find your clothes soon."

Drumknott blushed and ran out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Mr Woodridge, allow me to introduce myself, I am Lord Vetinari, the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork."

Mr Woodridge nodded absent-mindedly then gave Vetinari a triumphant smile. "I'm eighty-four, you know."

"Are you? My word. Have some wine."

"No thanks; gives me wind. I could murder a cuppa though."

Vetinari frowned. "Cuppa?"

"Cup of tea."

"Oh," Vetinari attempted a smile. "We only have wine."

"Okay, but you'd better open a window, sonny," the old man cackled. He downed the glass in one go. "Not bad."

Vetinari tried to disguise his horror as he watched Mr Woodridge down the 200-year old chardonnay in one gulp. "I'm glad you like it," he managed. "Mr Woodridge, what is your first name?"

"Sidney."

Vetinari gave him a seductive smile. "I've always thought Sidney was a very distinguished name."

"Yeah? What's yours?"

"You can call me Havelock."

Mr Woodridge burst out laughing. "Havelock? What kind of foofy name is that? You need a good solid Morporkian name, lad, like Bert or Alfie."

"Really," Lord Vetinari said acidly. He shook himself and forced a smile. "What good advice, Sidney."

"Yeah, well, you want advice, I'm your man," said Sidney. "Where's the grub? I'm starved."

"Grub?" asked Vetinari. "Oh, you mean the _food_." He picked up a small silver bell and shook it gently. The side doors opened and Drumknott came in with a small dinner trolley. Vetinari smiled. "For dinner tonight we have…grilled chicken with a selection of winter vegetables and for dessert…a chocolate pudding."

Drumknott grinned. "With special sauce, sir."

"Really? What's special about it?"

The grin grew wider. "Give it about two minutes after you've eaten it, sir, and you'll find out. Do you require anything else?"

"No, thank you, that will be all. Return to my Command Centre and guard it as usual, Drumknott."

The grin disappeared and Drumknott groaned. "Yes sir."

Vetinari turned back to his captive, who was shovelling food into his mouth at breakneck speed. "Is it to your liking, Sidney?"

"Not bad," said the old man with his mouth full. "Got any mushy peas?"

"No."

"Oh, well never mind," he gestured towards Vetinari's plate with his fork. "You going to eat that, or what?"

"I've already eaten today, thank you."

"You should eat more, skinny lad like you; put some meat on your bones."

"More advice," Vetinari said testily. "Oh good."

"Yeah, well, got a life-time of experience, me. Did I tell you I'm eighty-four?"

"Yes, Sidney, you did." Lord Vetinari sighed; this was not going to plan. "Sidney, do you know why I brought you here?"

"Free food?"

"No," Lord Vetinari leaned forward and gave the man a long, smouldering look. "I brought you here because I really, really wanted to get to know you better, Sidney. I find your company simply mesmerising."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. You have such charisma, such grace, such…" Vetinari tried desperately to think of a third. "…big ears. How could I resist taking this opportunity for some time alone with you?"

Sidney looked at him suspiciously. "Time alone to do what?"

Lord Vetinari smiled. "What would you like to do?" he asked in the most seductive tone he could manage. "We could do anything you want, Sidney, _anything_. All I want in return is for you to tell me what your wife has been planning. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

Sidney frowned. "But she hasn't."

"Oh, but she has, Sidney," said Vetinari, still in the same tone. "Just tell me what it is, and all of this--" he gestured at the Fortress of Doom. "—can be yours."

"But I've already got a pillow at home--"

"I wasn't referring to those, Sidney, I was referring to what they represent. Inform on your wife, tell me what she's planning and I will make you my Ki—Que—official Consort. Together we can rule this city! _Bwahahahaha_!"

"What, even Scoone Avenue?"

Vetinari fought the urge to sigh and order the man's death. "Well, Scoone Avenue is in the city so yes, that too," he said slightly peevishly.

"Hmm," Sidney said thoughtfully. "Well, she did say that taxes are a bit high. And she did tell me once that she thinks you dye your hair."

Vetinari's eyes narrowed. "So it was _her_ who started that rumour," he muttered. He took a deep breath and smiled winningly at Sidney. "You wish to join me as my Consort then, do you, Sidney?"

Sidney shrugged. "Yeah, why not? Sounds like fun."

"Oh it will be," said Vetinari sexily. "And now, let us seal our union." He leant in for the kiss…

* * *

"Oh gods, do you really think he's going to do it?" asked Big Mad Drongo, his eyes glued to the omniscope. "This is so _weird_."

Yeah, well, he should do it," muttered Skazz, looking worriedly at the thinking machine. "Hex is burning up some serious magic keeping this spell going. I think we'll have to sacrifice another gerbil in a minute or the magic's going to burn out."

"Yeah, yeah, keep your hair on," said Drongo. He looked up at the image of Lord Vetinari and Sidney. "Oh, dude, that is _sick_."

"You're the one who wanted to see if we could make him do it."

"Yeah, but I didn't think he actually would; remember the trouble we had getting him just to make the secretary wear the bikini? We had to light candles and everything."

"Uh huh, whatever. Come on, where's that gerbil? Hex is running out of raw magic here!"

Big Mad Drongo reached into the gerbil cage. "Okay, hang on, I can't get hold of one. Come here you little--"

"Hurry up!"

"I'm trying!"

"Try harder!"

Drongo sighed with relief. "There, got one."

"Good. Now bring it here," said Skazz. "We've only got about thirty seconds before the magic runs out--"

Ponder poked his head through the door. "Hey, you both okay in here? You've been here for the past week." He froze when he saw the omniscope; or rather, what was being displayed on the omniscope. "What are you too _doing_?"

The two students looked up at their Faculty Head in horror. "Oh shit," muttered Big Mad Drongo. The gerbil took the opportunity to bite an in-reach finger, making him shout and drop it hastily on the floor, where it ran for the cover of Hex. "Oh _shit_."

Hex shut down.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Okay, well, I wasn't actually going to post the Oh-Gods-The-Spells-Worn-Off bit (a.k.a. This Chapter) until I'd finished writing the whole thing but while this bit was really easy to write, I have almost total writer's block on the following section. So, I'm posting this in the hope that it'll jog something in my head and I'll actually be able to write more than one paragraph a night. Sigh.

* * *

Vimes looked around nervously at the sound of a scream and a loud crash coming from the Great Hall. He tapped on the door. "Er…are you alright in there, sir?" he called out, anxiously waiting for a reply. He groaned when none was forth-coming. "Oh gods, I _really_ don't want to go in there," he muttered to himself. "Oh well, here goes--"

Suddenly the door opened. "That won't be necessary, Commander," said Vetinari in clipped tones. "I am quite well. Follow me, please." He set off down the corridor at a brisk pace.

"Is _Mr Woodridge_ okay though, sir?"

"For the most part."

"Oh. Because you said you were going to--"

"That was because of a spell, Vimes."

"Whatever you say, sir," said Vimes, trying to hide his smile.

Vetinari stopped and whirled around to face the Watch Commander. "Yes, I _do_ say, Vimes. And if you breathe one word of this evening's events to anyone, just _one_, I will personally redesign the Watch uniform so that you and your men end up wearing nothing but tights for the rest of your lives. Do I make myself clear?" he hissed.

"Yes sir."

"Good." The Patrician started walking again. "Go to Unseen University immediately and inform Archchancellor Ridcully that some of his students have been engaged in some serious misuses of magic against me. Then go to the High Energy Magic building in and arrest every student you find there."

"Yes sir. Good to have you back, sir," said Vimes with a smile.

"Really? I wasn't aware I ever left, Vimes," snapped the Patrician. "Once you've arrested them, bring them directly to my office. Now go."

"Yes sir." Vimes turned down a side corridor, fighting the impulse to laugh.

Vetinari frowned as he stalked his way back to his office, trying to list all the ways he was going to punish those responsible for his little tête-à-tête with Sidney. He'd just reached number 247 when he reached the corridor to his office. He stopped as he heard shouting and laughing coming from the area of the waiting room. Apprehensively he opened the door and peered in.

"Dance! Dance! Dance!" shouted Mr Sock excitedly, throwing his hands up in the air. "_Wooooo_!"

Mr Boggis threw what looked to Vetinari like a dollar coin at the dancing secretary. "Yeah, come on; put some gusto into it, boy!"

"Oh gods, make it stop," cried Drumknott, tears running down his face. "Why won't you people _leave_?" He jumped and turned in mid-air, wriggling various parts of his anatomy in accordance with the complicated routine he'd had to learn.

The huge smile on Mr Boggis' face grew even wider as Drumknott kicked up a leg and pulled off his shoe. "Gods, I love this bit," he shouted to Lord Downey.

"Me too," Downey shouted back. "Think he'll manage it this time?"

"I hope not!"

"Me neither!"

"A-_hem_." The sound of someone clearing their throat so discreetly should've been lost in a room full of shouting and screaming people but somehow Lord Vetinari managed to make himself heard above the din. He looked over the assembled Guild Leaders with a cold, calculating stare and raised an eyebrow. "What is going on here?"

Downey grinned at him. "We're just watching your secretary perform his little routine, your most excellently evil tyrannicalness."

The eyebrow rose so high it was in danger of colliding with the Patrician's hairline. "I believe 'my lord' will suffice, Lord Downey. Drumknott, get off your desk." The secretary breathed a sigh of relief and climbed down, wiping at his face hurriedly.

Downey frowned. "But I thought you wanted us to call you that? You said calling by your title didn't sound quite evil enough."

"I changed my mind," said Vetinari icily. "Now ladies, gentlemen, if you would kindly vacate my Palace; I have a great deal of work to be getting on with."

"But what about the new Guild names--"

"I said get _out_, Lord Downey."

As the assembled throng left the room, one voice could be heard grumbling above all the others. "Guess I'm not a general anymore then…"

Drumknott smiled hesitantly at Vetinari. "Thank you for that, sir. They'd been making me do that for the past half hour." He pulled at the half-empty cups of his bikini top; they jangled. "On the up-side though, I think I've made twelve dollars this evening."

"Good for you," said Vetinari, staring intently at the wall opposite him.

Drumknott's brow furrowed. "Is something wrong, sir?"

"You…er…you may want to rearrange your bikini pants, Drumknott."

Drumknott looked down and blushing furiously, turned and fixed the problem area. "Sorry about that, sir."

Vetinari smiled. "It's not your fault, Drumknott; they are a rather revealing cut aren't they?"

"Yes sir."

The Patrician nodded and opened the door to his office. He looked up at the portrait. "Oh dear gods…how many people have seen that?"

"Um, well, you, sir…me….Leonard, obviously…Commander Vimes…oh, and one of the maids came in here yesterday while I was filing but we won't be able to establish how much of it she remembers until she regains consciousness."

"Regains consciousness?"

"She fainted, sir."

"Oh," Vetinari looked at the painting thoughtfully. "Did she faint in a _good_ way?"

"Sir?"

Vetinari waved a hand. "Never mind. Now, I want you to prepare to draft several clacks to the Low King, General Ashal, Prince Khufuruh and our operatives in Al-Khali; I want to get this Klatchian situation sorted out as soon as possible." He paused; something was bothering him. "Drumknott, why are you all shiny?"

The secretary blushed. "Oh, it's…er…it's because of the baby oil, sir." He saw the inquiring look on Vetinari's face and shrugged, jangling slightly. "Mr Boggis insisted, sir."

"Ah." Vetinari smiled slightly as he leaned over his desk and wrote down some notes on a piece of paper. "Commander Vimes should be arriving here soon with some prisoners; before he does I need you to go out and get a few things. Oh, and be sure to put on your regular clothing first--"

Drumknott burst into tears again and leapt at the Patrician, hugging him tightly. "Thank you, sir! You don't know how happy this makes me! I can wear clothes aaagaaiinn!" he wailed into Vetinari's shoulder before descending into nothing but sobs.

Vetinari squirmed uncomfortably in Drumknott's embrace; contrary to the rumours constantly circulating the city, he wasn't accustomed to being hugged by half-naked young men covered in baby oil. He patted Drumknott tentatively on the shoulder. "There, there," he said awkwardly.

It seemed to do the trick; Drumknott sniffed and loosened his grip on the Patrician. "Sorry about that, sir; it's just been a really stressful couple of days."

Vetinari smiled at him warily, ready to duck behind his desk in case another hug was forthcoming. "No explanation needed, Drumknott." He held out the list. "Just hurry back with these, please."

"Yes sir." Drumknott turned to leave but paused halfway. "Sir, can I just try something first, please?"

"Yes, yes, whatever you want, Drumknott." said Vetinari, only half-listening as he looked through some of the assorted paperwork on his desk. He looked up with a frown. "Try what?"

"This, sir."

Vetinari watched his secretary launch back into his dance routine with a bemused look. Within a minute though the look had turned into one of abject horror and by the time Drumknott had finished the routine, Lord Vetinari's fingers had turned white from digging them into the walnut of the desk in an effort not to run screaming from the room.

Drumknott smiled. "There, I knew I could do it in the end, sir. I even got the bit with the sock right, didn't I?"

Vetinari nodded his head shakily; suddenly he felt the need to sit down and have several large drinks. "Yes, you did, Drumknott." He managed a weak smile. "Don't _ever_ do that in front of me again."


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Okay, this is absolutely the last chapter of this story, I promise. I think it's pretty interesting that everyone assumed I'd leave the punishment bit out; I always intended to finish this properly, but I got lazy and forgetful and started about three other stories without finishing this one. I do that a lot, as I'm sure you've noticed.

Anyway, here's the end. Enjoy. I hope.

* * *

"—an omniscope, several large candles and a box full of gerbils," Vimes read out from his notebook. "That's everything they had with them, sir."

"My word, what an interesting array of magical paraphernalia," said Vetinari dryly. He stared coldly at the two red-faced students standing in front of his desk. "Would you care to explain, gentlemen?"

Drongo tried a smile but it soon withered and died under the force of the Patrician's stare. "Er…it was a joke?"

"A…joke?"

"Yeah."

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "A student prank of some sort, yes?"

"Yeah, something like that. We didn't mean any harm, did we, Skazz?" Drongo nudged his friend.

"Eep," squeaked Skazz, his face a frozen rictus of terror.

"That was a no, my lord," sighed Drongo. "He always clams up like this when he's nervous."'

Vetinari smiled. "Really? And why should Mr Hepplewhite be so nervous, if all he's done is play a harmless joke on me? Are _you_ nervous, Mr Turnipseed?"

Drongo smiled back. "Not particularly, my lord." Standing beside the Patrician's desk, Vimes grinned. This was going to be _fun_.

Vetinari's smile got even more pleasant. "Although, I do find myself wondering; isn't the very definition of a joke something that is amusing?" The smile disappeared and the stare returned. "_I_ didn't find it very amusing. Did you, Mr Turnipseed?"

"Well, maybe a little bit--"

"Ah. So you find the idea of me posing for an extremely detailed naked portrait amusing, do you? Or the thought of me filling the Great Hall with pillows and calling it my Fortress of Doom? Changing the names of all the Guilds and organisations and calling Lord Downey my 'General'? Forcing my secretary to wear a golden bikini and perform sexually explicit and highly disturbing dances in order to distract anyone from coming into my presence uninvited? That manoeuvre with the sock in particular, was that amusing to you? Having me interrogate an elderly woman because you planted the suggestion in my mind that she was a threat? And last but certainly not least, making me attempt to engage in sexual relations with an extremely enthusiastic male octogenarian—Commander Vimes, if you don't stop laughing this second, I _swear_ there will be trouble—was that funny, Mr Turnipseed?"

Drongo hesitated. "Er…yes?"

"I see. Well, maybe we just have a difference of opinion; let's see what some other people think. Drumknott, did you find Mr Boggis rubbing baby oil onto your semi-naked body and forcing you to perform your little dance over twelve times in the past two days funny?"

Drumknott glared at the students. "No sir."

"Commander Vimes, did you find being called a Warrior of Justice and having to arrest an old woman funny?"

Vimes opened his mouth to reply.

"Before you say anything, Vimes, allow me to show you the designs I personally came up for the new Watch uniforms while under the influence of Mr Turnipseed and Mr Hepplewhite." Vetinari handed him a piece of paper.

Vimes' face fell. "This would've been the new uniform?"

"Yes."

"But it's just a helmet and a leather posing pouch."

"I _know_, Vimes. Leather bras would've been provided for your female officers of course."

"But…but why am _I_ the one pictured wearing this?"

Vetinari smiled. "You are the Commander, Vimes, so I thought any new uniform should be tailored primarily around you. Now, do you find it funny? Or would you actually prefer this to your current uniform?"

"No sir, not funny at all, sir," said Vimes hurriedly.

"I thought not," Vetinari paused and leaned over towards the Watch Commander. "Oh, you'll probably receive a delivery sometime in the next two days, Vimes, just get rid of it. Or you can keep it if you like; your wife may enjoy it," he said quietly, and then he leaned back into his chair. "The current consensus seems to be in favour of your little prank not being amusing, gentlemen. So why exactly did you decide to engage in such reckless behaviour?"

"Oh, well, um…we were supposed to be using the omniscope to catalogue star positions and stuff for Ponder—Mr Stibbons, our Faculty Head—he's been mad for that stuff ever since that business with the Kite, and we got a little bored," said Drongo. "So for a laugh, we had HEX focus the omniscope on some people in the city to see what they were doing; Captain Carrot and his girlfriend what's-her-face and then Commander Vimes here--"

"Commander Snuggles," murmured Skazz. Vimes froze.

"—with his wife and finally you, my lord. We saw that barbarian hero come in here and all what happened with that and we thought wouldn't it be funny if you actually started to act like a tyrant would according to that quiz…" Drongo's voice trailed off under the weight of Lord Vetinari's stare.

"I thought it would be something like that." Lord Vetinari held out a hand and Drumknott gave him a book. "Well, if you wanted a tyrant, gentlemen, why didn't you say so? Ah yes, 'How to Spot a Tyrant'. Let's see; question one; do you own a cat?"

Drumknott reached into a small box behind the desk and pulled out a tiny ginger kitten. "Happy birthday, sir."

Vetinari smiled. "Thank you, Drumknott."

"She's called Whiskers, sir," said Drumknott. He gave the kitten a pat on the hand and smiled at her. "Because you've got the cutest little whiskers, haven't you, haven't you?" The kitten started purring.

"Of course, now question two; do you have a beard? I think the answer to that is obviously yes," Vetinari ticked the page. "Question three; do you ever imprison people for no reason? I think Mrs Woodridge would certainly agree _that's_ true. Question four; we can leave that one until later, I think. Question five--"

"Sorry, my lord," interrupted Drongo. "But what are you doing?"

"I would've thought that was obvious, Mr Turnipseed," said Vetinari. "You obviously based the idea for your little 'prank' on the questions in this quiz so I'm using it as the inspiration on how best to respond. And first I'm merely seeing which questions you haven't provided an answer to yet."

"Oh, because question four is about sentencing people to death, isn't it? So why are you going to leave that one until--" He stopped as he caught sight of Vetinari's expression. "—oh crap."

"Indeed. Question five; Have you ever tied a virgin to a large rock for sacrifice to a god, demon or monster of your choice?" read out Vetinari. He looked up at the two students speculatively and made another small note in the book. "That can also be left until later. Question six; has one of your employees ever tried to overthrow you? Ah yes, Lupine Wonse," Vetinari turned to Vimes. "Do you remember Mr Wonse, Vimes?"

"Yes sir."

"What happened to him, Vimes?"

"He's dead, sir."

Vetinari smiled. "Yes, he is, isn't he; died right over…there, if I recall correctly." Drongo's face paled as he watched Vetinari's finger point about five feet from where he was standing. "Or rather, about fifty feet below that spot."

"That's right, sir."

Vetinari stared intently at Drongo for slightly longer than normal before looking back down at the book. "Question seven; do you dress only in black or black and red robes?" He looked down at his clothing. "Yes. Question eight; have you ever locked someone up for saying your robes look like a dress? Plus two points if it actually is a dress. Well, I haven't imprisoned anyone for it, but I was just about to declare _war_ on another _country_ for such a transgression." He grimaced slightly. "Plus there is the rather frilly pink taffeta creation I found hanging in my wardrobe this morning. Thank goodness I was able to resist your repeated attempts to get me to wear it."

"Thank the gods," murmured Vimes.

Vetinari ignored him. "Question nine; Do you ever refer to your employees as henchmen? Even if only in private? I think the new name-plate on Drumknott's desk proclaiming him to be the Arch-Lieutenant of the Filing Cabinet will cover that…" He made another tick in the book. "Question ten; Do you have a secret hide-out? The 'Municipal Fortress of Doom'—" Vetinari said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "—covers that, and question eleven too. Question twelve; have you ever seduced a member of the opposite sex for power or influence?" He smiled. "Possibly…"

Vimes turned slowly towards him, a shocked expression on his face. "Who?"

"A gentleman never tells, Vimes. Question thirteen; poetry, yes—oh, that reminds me. Drumknott?"

"Yes sir?"

"Go and tear out the back page of your diary and destroy it, will you?"

Drumknott frowned. "Why?"

The Patrician's face coloured slightly. "Thanks to the two pranksters here I wrote a rather…obscene poem about you in there. Mostly concerning your…er…."

"My what?" Drumknott asked, confused. Suddenly his eyes opened wide. "Oh, my…yes, definitely, sir. I'll burn it straight after this meeting. The diary, I mean, not my…y'know."

"Good," Vetinari sighed with relief.

Vimes leant over to Drumknott with a grin. "I'll give you fifty dollars if you'll send the diary to de Worde."

"Sssh."

Drongo let out a nervous chuckle. "Ha...um, my lord, I think you've forgotten one thing though."

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "Really? And what would that be?"

"Well, we're wizards; you don't have the authority to punish us," said Drongo. "Unseen University has always been independent from Ankh-Morpork in that way, so only the Archchancellor can discipline us."

"Ah, yes," said Vetinari. "Commander Vimes, what did Archchancellor Ridcully say when you asked him about that?"

"Ridcully said--" Vimes pulled out his notebook and flipped to the appropriate page. "—'They made Vetinari do what? Well, bugger that, I'm not getting involved; tell him he can do whatever he wants to the little bastards, they deserve it'."

Vetinari smiled. "You see, gentlemen?"

Drongo looked down at the floor. "…oh…"

Vetinari picked up the book. "Now let me see; question fourteen…"

* * *

"It could be worse."

There was no reply apart from a stony glare from Skazz.

"You're going to have to talk to me sometime, y'know."

The glare intensified.

"So what did you think about number twenty-six? I didn't think Vetinari would be into that, did you?"

Skazz sighed.

"I mean, you could tell Vimes was surprised, and the secretary too. Vetinari must be pretty good at keeping it a secret. But let's face it, you'd want to--"

"Are you ever going to shut up?" asked Skazz through gritted teeth.

"I'm just trying to make conversation; we've been hanging up here in the scorpion pit for three hours now and I'm bored," said Drongo. "Anyway this is all your fault."

Skazz looked at him in disbelief. "How? All of this was your idea!"

"Yeah, but you let me do it."

"You are such a moron."

"Exactly. That's why you're supposed to stop me before I do something like that."

Skazz sighed again. "So how long do you think Vetinari is going to keep us in here?" He grimaced slightly. "All these mime corpses are giving me the creeps."

"You will be here until I decide otherwise, gentlemen."

Skazz and Drongo looked down, or rather from their perspective, up at Lord Vetinari who had entered the pit through a side door.

He smiled. "Comfortable?"

"No."

"Good." Vetinari looked at the solitary scorpion scuttling around the floor of the pit. "Drumknott?"

"Yes sir?"

"What happened to all the scorpions?"

"They all died of old age, sir. There's only Sidney left now."

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "Sidney?"

Drumknott smiled. "Yes sir. Sidney the Scorpion."

"I see."

Drumknott held up a shoebox. "If I may, sir?"

"Go ahead."

Vetinari and the students watched as Drumknott carefully scooped up the scorpion with the shoebox lid and lovingly deposited it onto a bed of torn-up paper. He placed the lid back onto the box with a smile. "There you go, Sidney," he murmured. "You be a brave boy for your Uncle Rufus and you'll be back in your pit before you know it." He turned to the Patrician. "All set, sir."

"Capital." Vetinari smiled up at the students. "Now gentlemen; it's time for your punishment." He paused. "Well, the first part of it anyway."

Drongo gave him a surprised look. "But I thought this was our punishment."

Vetinari chuckled. "Oh no, Mr Turnipseed, this is merely your detainment. You didn't honestly think that I would punish you with the same methods I use for rogue mimes, did you? No, what you did was far worse then simple mimicry."

"It wasn't _that_ bad--"

"I can assure you it was, Mr Turnipseed. I'm experiencing quite a bit of difficulty convincing Mr Woodridge that I'm no longer interested in him and just because I was…" Vetinari grimaced. "…doesn't mean that it will happen again, no matter how many times he takes his clothes off."

Drumknott shivered.

"However, his continued infatuation with me has provided me with an idea for your second punishment; I've managed to convince him that the way to gain my affections is to prove the strength of his--" he smiled. "—with the two of you."

Skazz retched as Drongo looked at Vetinari in shock.

"And once Mr Woodridge has finished with the two of you," continued Vetinari. "Commander Vimes will provide you both with some of the new Watch uniforms and you will be escorted around the city wearing them by--who was it again, Drumknott?"

"Sergeant von Uberwald and Lance-Constable von Humpeding, sir."

Drongo frowned. "Who?"

"Captain Carrot's girlfriend and her vampire friend," explained Drumknott.

Drongo grinned as he pictured the two women in his mind. Then he remembered what he'd be wearing. "Oh."

"Apparently the Lance-Constable is very excited about the opportunity," said Vetinari with a smile. "She's asked her friend Mr Chriek to accompany you all so he can take some pictures for the Times."

Drongo sighed. "…oh."

"But before that you have to suffer your first punishment. I have to admit I was rather at a loss with this one, but thankfully Drumknott had a rather remarkable idea."

The secretary grinned evilly.

"He thought that as you had so much fun watching him perform his little routine in his new uniform that you should have the opportunity to see it in the flesh, as it were," said Vetinari.

"Oh gods…"

"Oh, I won't be doing it," said Drumknott, whose smile had gotten even more evil, if that were possible. "We found somebody—somebodys—more appropriate." He opened the door to the pit and Mr and Mrs Woodridge shuffled in.

Drongo and Skazz stared at them both in horror; all the elderly couple were wearing was a golden bikini, a pair of shoes and a pair of socks apiece. Mr Woodridge leered at Vetinari, who shifted uncomfortably at the unwanted attention while Mrs Woodridge gave everyone a dazed smile.

"Hello dears."

"Before we leave you to enjoy the performance there was something I was supposed to do; now what was it?" said Vetinari. He smiled. "Ah, yes, the evil laugh--" The smile turned into a grin. "--Ha. Ha. Ha."


End file.
